


Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

by Heavydirtys0ul, things-we-used-tc-share (Heavydirtys0ul)



Series: Wasteland, Baby! [8]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Burns, In which Remy is a mood and Emile is very much worried, Injury, M/M, Warnings for intentional self harm even if it's in a unconventional format, covering up ur feelings with emotions: part 2 electric boogaloo, please read the other fics first asdfghjkl guys its a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 22:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20217115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavydirtys0ul/pseuds/Heavydirtys0ul, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavydirtys0ul/pseuds/things-we-used-tc-share
Summary: Emile has reached his breaking point with his worry for Remy's extracurricular activities, and he tries to get the truth out of him.





	Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

_"I watch the work of my kin, bold and boyful,_

_Toying somewhere between love and abuse,_

_Calling to join them, the wretched and joyful,_

_Shaking the wings of their terrible youths,"_

_-Angel of Small Death and The Codeine Scene, Hozier_

* * *

At 3AM in the morning, Emile drags his feet out of his bed at the sound of a knock on the door; his wings droop tiredly and his eyes look so exhausted he can barely stand. He knows whose going to be on the other side before he's even opened the door, and when he sees those tired eyes and flattened ears, the hint of tears in Remy's eyes, he feels a rush of adrenaline that nothing else could ever give him. There's an apology on the other's tongue but Emile simply shakes his head, those "sorry's" mean very little to him anymore. Careful hands peel Remy's shirt off of him as he goes through motions he's so very used too "You can't stop can you?" He whispers into the silence that feels too fragile to be broken. 

"I can't," Is the soft, timid response he gets. "At first I thought it was just...so I could see you," Emile curses under his breath at the admission, Virgil had told him as much but he honestly hadn't wanted to believe he was the root of this. "But now it's..."

"Addicting?" There's something heavy in the tone of his voice which could be fear or anger, or frustration. It could be genuine fury that he'd never questioned Remy more when this all had started and now it was spiraling out of control. _He'd never seen Remy cry before_, but now he can feel the saltwater tears gathering on his skin and he doesn't want to look the other in the eye because he's terrified of what he might find there. The burned skin begins to knit itself back together and a sigh full of agony releases from the younger Witch's lips, head bowed as he chokes on his own lungs. "We're going to have to get you somewhere where someone can help you with this Remy, I can't fix people's minds," Even though he blames himself, he blamed his own carelessness and his own lack of observation and he'll go to the grave blaming himself. It's a bitter sort of irony to be the cause of something and then be unable to fix it. 

Remy would tell him it's not his fault, and that's why he doesn't say what's on his mind. 

"There's no one that can help me with this Em," He sighs as his body finally eases in its agony. But he's not crying because he's in pain; he's so used to the pain by now, he's crying because he's angry, he's ashamed, he's sick and tired of seeing that exhausted and scared look on Emile's face and knowing he put it there. "I'm not asking the Fae for help, and none of the Witches here specialize in addiction or anything that pertains to it," 

"Roman would..."

"Roman's Virgil's problem I can't just ask him for favors, I know we tend to forget it but he's still Fae Emile, and Fae magic comes at a price each and every time," His whispers are frantic, angry...scared. "I couldn't do that to Virgil," He looks down at his hands and then _finally_ at Emile's face. The elder Witch can feel it too, the fear that surges through every vein and muscle and nerve; Remy is _fucking_ terrified. "There's nowhere else to go and I can't believe I'm saying this but it's entirely possible that Humans are the only people that can help me with this," He runs a hand over his face, looking down at the ground. "I don't want to ask Humans for help, I saw what they did to Patton, one of their own..." 

_"Assumedly,"_ Emile mutters under his breath "If you go to the Human village with Patton you might be a little safer, strength in numbers and all, I think their Church does councilling sessions, I can't quite remember it's been a while since I visited, even when glamoured they seem to be able to tell that I wasn't quite one of them," Remy nods and swallows nervously "Surely it can't take long, just walk in and talk to someone and walk out again, it should be easy, right?" Emile squeezes the other's hands in his own "The best you can do is try," 

"I guess," He muttered, a look in his eyes that says he's not really very used to trying. "Look Emile, I just...I want to say...I..." His words suddenly become too heavy, too much, his mind aching as he tries to figure out what he needs to say, whatever that may be. Emile's eyes look so kind and so worried, the way they always look but for Remy that gaze only really ever gets softer. 

"I know," The doctor says gently, "Virgil sort of mentioned it in passing and I figured when you said that you only started doing this as an excuse I sort of put two and two together and..." His slow rambles are cut short by Remy's lips, firm but gentle as the scarred hands cup the other's cheeks. Heat flushes through Emile's cheeks and his heartbeat either stops or goes faster (He really can't tell, it's doing something though), as his hands never seem to rest anywhere. He never really quite learned how to kiss, or really anything romantic; his work was always too important and he always figured Remy wasn't interested until recently (fear is a powerful drug, and being afraid of love is one of the most common fears to have). 

By the time Remy pulls away Emile is thankful for the low candlelight as his cheeks flush a dark red and his hands rest on either side of Remy's neck, he can feel the pulse underneath his fingertips. What a wonderful sound and feeling, someone's heartbeat. The knowledge they are alive and breathing right underneath your fingertips; it's so comforting to feel Remy's warm skin, yet frightening to know if he carries on this way that heartbeat might not thrive for so long. "Try, yeah?" Emile whispers in a hopeful tone, that last thought too terrifying to not air in some fashion.

"I will," 


End file.
